


The Unravelling

by Themistos_Heart



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2581811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themistos_Heart/pseuds/Themistos_Heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A diplomatic mission to Venice has unexpected consequences for the Inseparables and their friendship. Set after the season one finale. Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing is mine. And beware. English is not my first language, but I hope the story is readable.

Porthos marched through the sumptuous halls of the Ca’ d’Oro. He was tired. This whole mission had been a hassle from the start. The Comte de Rohan was an accomplished diplomat, but by God the man was difficult. Porthos had more than once questioned his sanity during their journey to Venice. De Rohan had wasted no opportunity to complain about practically everything. Either they traveled too fast or they traveled too slow, the weather was always wrong (as if they were responsible for the goddamned _weather_ as well!), their accommodations were never good enough, the food was unpalatable, the wine was horse-piss, and so on and so forth. Porthos had never been the main target of these rants, but they grated on him nonetheless. He couldn’t understand how Captain Treville had kept his calm all the time. Porthos almost wished the King had sent them into battle or even better into exile. Everything was better than this journey.

Porthos reached the palace wing where they were housed. He only hoped Aramis wasn’t in their shared room. Since his “misstep” with the Queen their relationship was strange. Strained. They usually didn’t pry too much into the affairs of the others – Porthos himself didn’t care for too much nosiness – but this time was different. Aramis’ reckless streak was nothing new to them, but to bed the Queen bordered on self-destruction. Porthos shuddered to think what would happen, if the King would ever learn about this. Or Richelieu. The Cardinal would not only destroy Aramis, he would try to take down all of the other musketeers as well. Porthos felt ashamed, but he had been nearly faint with relief when the King had announced the Queen’s miscarriage. He truly felt for their loss, but at the same time he was glad that the possible proof of Aramis’ folly had been erased. Aramis hadn’t said anything to them, but it was quite clear that he was taking the loss of his possible child rather hard. He had been silent and withdrawn for weeks now. Porthos didn’t enjoy seeing his best friend like this. He had wanted again and again to reach out to Aramis, but there had never been a good opportunity. And he didn’t quite know how Aramis would react, if he confronted him. So they spent their time in silence and endured.

Porthos rubbed a hand over his face. A few more steps and he could finally rest. He would have some wine and try to put this miserable day of listening to mind-numbing polemics, underhanded insults, and tentative negotiations behind him. His fingers were already curled around the door handle when he heard it: Rapid footsteps came towards him. Porthos closed his eyes in weary frustration. What now? If de Rohan kept this up, he wouldn’t survive his diplomatic mission. Porthos would break him in half with the utmost pleasure.

“Porthos! You need to come! Quick!”

D’Artagnan nearly bowled into him. He looked deeply upset and Porthos swallowed an exasperated groan. What had happened now? He only hoped it was something minor. Captain Treville had frequently stressed that the Contarinis were important allies to King Louis, and he had cautioned them to tread carefully. D’Artagnan had gripped his arm and said, “It’s Aramis. He’s in trouble.”

Porthos closed his eyes for a second. No. No. No, he wouldn’t have done it, would he? Sweet merciful Jesus, Aramis could not have been this stupid. It couldn’t be. It had to be something else. Maybe a dispute over a card game. Some drunken brawl. Porthos asked, “What has he done?”

“Just come.”

That didn’t sound ominous at all. He followed d’Artagnan. Porthos’ annoyance had been replaced by gnawing worry and his worry transformed into alarm when they reached the salon. The Comte, Contarini, and other members of Contarini’s household were assembled. Athos and Captain Treville stood near the door. Their backs were as rigid as their expressions. Several of the red guards stood on the opposite side of the room and silently watched the proceedings. Porthos was maybe imagining things, but he could swear that they were gloating. Aramis stood in the center of the room, flanked by two stone-faced guards. The silent tension in the salon was palpable. Porthos entered the room and addressed Athos in an undertone, “What in God’s name is going on here?”

Treville stepped at the same time forward and said, “I’m sure that this is only a misunderstanding.”

De Rohan questioned in his ringing tones, “A misunderstanding?” Contarini drew himself up and nearly shouted, “How dare you!? This… This piece of filth over here has molested my wife! Are we not allies? Are we not friends? Your King certainly seems to think so! And one of his guards profanes my home and my wife like this?”

Disappointment swept over Porthos. That was exactly what he had feared. He turned and stared at Aramis, who stood mute and motionless. His pale face was completely expressionless and his dark eyes were dazed. Treville asked, “Aramis?”

Aramis blinked and his eyes turned towards Treville. He whispered, “I didn’t do anything.”

Porthos wanted to believe him. He really wanted to believe. But Aramis’ reputation hadn’t been built out of thin air. And what would Contarini gain by a false accusation? Nothing. Aramis was imploring them with his eyes, but their doubts must have shown on their faces, because the bleakness in Aramis’ eyes intensified and he repeated, “Please. You have to believe me. I didn’t do it.”

Porthos had to turn away. D’Artagnan’s face was a picture of misery. Athos’ face was impassive, but his stare was nothing short of terrifying. Captain Treville’s jaw was clenched so hard, that it had to be painful. Maybe they should try to defend Aramis. But how? What could they say or do? Porthos just didn’t know.

Contarini demanded, “I want this man punished, de Rohan. You hear me? You can’t sweep this under the rug. I won’t allow it! He has to be punished for his crime!”

Now it was Porthos, who clenched his jaw. He feared for the worst. De Rohan didn’t strike him as especially merciful and Contarini was clearly out for blood. Aramis was a goddamned fool, but he was their goddamned fool. They couldn’t leave him in the hands of the Contarinis.

Treville said, “Let me handle this, Comte. I will personally make sure, that Aramis will get his just punishment.”

Contarini exploded again, “No! No, this will not do! It will not allow these underhanded tricks!” He turned to de Rohan. “I won’t allow your Captain to cheat me out of my justice!”

Treville made no attempt to hide his disdain when he icily replied, “I can assure you that justice will be served. I am not in the habit of employing ‘tricks’.”

“Enough with this tiresome business. I will decide.” De Rohan’s disgust with this whole situation was evident. His eyes wandered slowly over Aramis. “Do you have to say anything for yourself, musketeer?”

Aramis drew himself a little up. The dazed expression was still on his face. If he didn’t know better, Porthos would say he was in shock. Aramis licked his lips and said again, “I didn’t do it. You have to believe me. I didn’t do anything.”

Porthos was surprised how sincere Aramis sounded. He didn’t try to avert his eyes, his voice was soft but not wavering, and he himself seemed to believe what he said. Contarini raged again, “You son of a whore! Are you trying to say that my wife is a liar? I will not tolerate this any longer, de Rohan!”

The Comte’s eyes burned with rage when he said, “It’s bad enough that you have impugned the honor of the Contessa, but your craven lies condemn you even more. I sentence you to a whipping. I think sixty lashes will do nicely. Is this satisfactory for you, dear Contarini?”

Contarini nodded curtly. Porthos swallowed hard. He wanted to protest, but he kept silent. The punishment was harsh, but it was better than the alternative. De Rohan could have ordered Aramis’ execution. Porthos looked again at the others. D’Artagnan looked sick and he studiously avoided any eye contact with Aramis. Athos’ silent fury hadn’t abated and Treville seemed to fight to keep his composure. Porthos himself felt only disappointment. Aramis had started to tremble and he mumbled again and again, “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything.”

De Rohan ignored Aramis’ desperate whispers. He addressed Aramis’ guards instead, “Take him out into the courtyard. Prepare him for his punishment.”

The guards grabbed Aramis’ arms and roughly dragged him out of the parlor. Porthos couldn’t look away. Aramis’ desperate eyes seemed to burn themselves into his soul.


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos couldn’t suppress a shiver. A sharp wind whistled through the courtyard and he wished he had brought his cloak. His nerves were stretched taut. D’Artagnan fidgeted beside him and asked Treville softly, “Can’t we do anything, Captain? Are we just going to watch this?”

“There’s nothing we can do, son.”

“But…”

Athos interrupted him, “The Captain’s right, d’Artagnan.”

Porthos cursed softly under his breath, but he too didn’t anything to interrupt the proceedings in the yard. The guards had stripped Aramis to the waist and had lashed him against a wooden pole. His naked back looked terribly vulnerable. Pity and anger were warring inside of Porthos. He was furious at Aramis and cursed him for his reckless stupidity, but at the same time he knew how excruciating the lash was and he felt for Aramis. And he had the nasty suspicion that Aramis’ punishment wouldn’t be over with this flogging. What would the King do when he heard about Aramis’ conduct? Porthos just couldn’t image that de Rohan would keep silent about this whole affair. And the red guards would gleefully inform the Cardinal of this incident. There would be an aftermath back in Paris.

De Rohan and Contarini entered the court. Contarini kept his distance, but the Comte slowly circled Aramis. “Have you something to say now? This is your last chance.”

Aramis shook his head. Porthos gritted his teeth and silently cursed Aramis’ truculence. Why didn’t the idiot just confess his crime? Maybe de Rohan would show some mercy. Maybe he would reduce the count of lashes. Apparently Athos’ thoughts went in a similar direction, because he softly muttered, “Damned fool. Just admit it already.”

De Rohan ordered, “Proceed.”

One of Contarini’s guards pressed a bit between Aramis’ teeth. The man stepped aside and another guard stepped out of the shadows. He held a cat o’ nine tails in his gloved hand. He swung the dark leather a few times harmlessly through the air. Aramis tensed at the sound and Porthos could feel his own shoulders tightening. The hush in the courtyard was almost eerie. The guard looked over to de Rohan, who nodded once, and he started with the whipping.

Aramis flinched when the first blow connected with his back, but he made no discernible sound. His skin rapidly reddened and then turned black and blue. The first guard counted the strokes. Aramis started to make soft sounds of pain and Porthos had to fight to keep his expression neutral. The fifth blow broke Aramis’ skin. After ten strokes the guard switched hands.

Porthos observed the nobles. De Rohan looked almost bored, but Contarini seemed to enjoy himself immensely. There was unholy glee on his face and he seemed to fight against a smile. Porthos looked over to d’Artagnan and Athos. D’Artagnan kept his eyes mostly on the ground, but Athos met his eyes. He looked bleak and Porthos suspected that he didn’t look much better. He certainly felt like shit.

Aramis’ pained sounds got progressively louder and more desperate. Porthos swallowed hard. There were still forty lashes to go. The tension suddenly went out of Aramis’ body and his head lolled sideways. He had lost consciousness. Porthos’ relief was short-lived, because the first guard fetched a bucket and dumped its content over Aramis’ head. Water. Aramis jerked back into awareness, twisted in his bonds, and he screamed. Porthos saw Contarini’s smirk and heard him comment to de Rohan, “Saltwater. Nice touch, isn’t it?”

Porthos felt sick.

The punishment recommenced. Aramis didn’t try to keep silent any longer. His pained and desolate sounds were excruciating. After forty strokes he slumped again into senselessness and again he got revived by saltwater.

Finally the last blow was delivered. Porthos immediately rushed to Aramis’ side. Athos and d’Artagnan were only a step behind him. They needed to get Aramis out of here. Porthos heard Treville say, “If it is all the same to you, Comte, my men will take Aramis to his room and I will send for a surgeon.”

De Rohan answered, “We are done here, so do as you like, Treville.”

That was all Porthos needed to hear. He ignored Contarini’s complaints, he only focused on helping Aramis.


	3. Chapter 3

D’Artagnan kept to the far corner and silently watched the proceedings in the dimly lit room. The Italian surgeon muttered something under his breath. He was bent over Aramis’ ruined back and stitched with precise and economical movements. D’Artagnan usually wasn’t this squeamish, but he just couldn’t look at Aramis. Even in the muted light it was obvious that his back was a bruised and bloody mess. D’Artagnan had been ridiculously relieved when Aramis had lost consciousness about fifteen minutes ago. Listening to Aramis was almost worse than watching him getting patched up.

The surgeon tied off the last stitch and straightened. He wiped his bloody hands on a rag and said whilst collecting his instruments, “This should do. If he doesn’t get an infection, he’ll be alright. You can call me again, if his condition worsens.”

Athos thanked the surgeon for his help and accompanied him to the door. Porthos spread a sheet over Aramis and carded his fingers gently through his hair. D’Artagnan jumped when Athos touched his elbow and asked, “Are you alright?”

“Am I… Am I alright?” D’Artagnan laughed hysterically. “I’m fine! I’m completely fine! I’m not the one whose back is cut to ribbons. God almighty!”

Both Porthos and Athos were watching d’Artagnan with strange expressions. Porthos asked Athos almost conversationally, “Do you need me to slap some calm into him?”

Athos shook his head and said to d’Artagnan, “Sit down.”

He indicated one of the chairs. D’Artagnan trudged over and fell into it. Athos pressed a cup of wine into his cold hands and ordered, “Drink.”

D’Artagnan wanted to protest, but Athos looked unimpressed. So he drained his cup and muttered, “I’m fine. You should rather take care of Aramis.”

Athos answered, “He is resting. Right now I’m worried about you.”

Sudden tears pricked d’Artagnan’s eyes. He rubbed a hand over his face and muttered, “It’s just… He said he didn’t do anything. He wouldn’t lie to us, would he? And I just can’t imagine him forcing a woman. It’s… It’s all wrong.”

Athos said, “Oh, I don’t doubt that the Contessa was a willing participant. She probably invented the assault as a cover. What husband likes to be confronted with an unfaithful wife?”

That made terrible sense. No wonder Aramis had been this upset. This revelation made d’Artagnan feel even worse and he said, “We should have helped him. We were doing nothing. Nothing at all. This isn’t right, Athos. He’s our friend. Our brother.”

Athos sat as well and regarded d’Artagnan gravelly. He asked, “What should we have done?”

D’Artagnan gnawed his lower lip. “I… I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Porthos said, “We know how you feel, d’Artagnan. Do you think we don’t care about Aramis? But he knew what he was doing. He knew the risks.”

D’Artagnan nodded slowly, but he didn’t feel any better. He still felt like he had failed Aramis. He didn’t doubt for a second that Aramis would have moved heaven and earth to help him, if their positions had been reversed. And what had he done?

Aramis stirred on the bed and moaned softly. Porthos returned immediately to Aramis’ side and stroked his hair again. He soothed, “Take it easy, Aramis. Everything’s alright. You’re safe.”

Aramis subsided. Porthos said abruptly, “I can’t believe he did it again.” His harsh words were a startling contrast to his gentle touches. “He swore he would be more circumspect. He swore to high heaven that the incident with the Queen would never be repeated and that he would set his sights lower. And now look at us. If he keeps this up, he’ll get not only himself killed but us as well.”

D’Artagnan hated to admit it, but Porthos was right. Aramis had made a lot of seemingly heartfelt promises. D’Artagnan asked softly, “What should we do now?”

“I don’t know.” Athos sounded weary. “But it can’t go on like this. It’s too dangerous.”

D’Artagnan sighed softly. Athos was right, but what should they do?


	4. Chapter 4

“I need to talk to you.”

Aramis stirred weakly. He just wanted to sleep, because every waking moment was pure agony. His back throbbed incessantly and it got worse when he made the tiniest movement. He felt feverish and his throat was raw.

“Aramis, do you hear me?”

He blinked his burning eyes open. Captain Treville looked down at him. Aramis swallowed with difficulty and nodded faintly. He gasped when a bolt of pain shot down his back. He really needed to be more careful with his movements. Treville winced in sympathy and took a seat beside the bed. He asked, “How are you feeling?”

What a question. Aramis felt like complete shit, but he only smiled weakly and mumbled, “Like I got whipped.”

Aramis noted that Treville didn’t reciprocate the smile. He cleared his throat and said, “I’ve spoken with de Rohan. He wants to report your conduct to the King.”

Aramis closed his eyes for a second. Of course. He felt again like he was trapped in a nightmare that just wouldn’t end. Treville kept on talking, “Your… reticence didn’t reflect too well on you. Why didn’t you just confess and be done with this whole goddamned business? I don’t understand it, Aramis. You made this whole situation only worse.”

Sudden anger flared in Aramis. He nearly shouted, “I won’t lie!”

He struggled to sit up and tried to ignore the hot flashes of pain down his back. Treville stopped his clumsy movement and pressed him back into the mattress.

“Mind your damned back!”

Aramis subsided. There was a red haze in front of his eyes and he felt faint. Treville’s expression was stormy and he didn’t any longer hide his anger. He nearly shouted, “What the hell were you thinking, Aramis? Were you even thinking at all? I thought I made myself clear when I told you how important it was to be on your best behavior? And what are you doing? You turn around and sleep with the damned Contessa!”

“But the truth…”

“The truth doesn’t fucking matter! I know that you didn’t rape this damned woman, but that’s beside the fucking point! What was Contarini supposed to do? Proclaim in front of everyone that his wife’s a harlot? You should have begged his forgiveness! And what will the King say? You are one of his guards, your behavior falls back onto him! You not only disgraced yourself and your brothers, no, you disgraced your King as well! And what about Richelieu? That was just what he was waiting for! Another reason to discredit us in the eyes of the King!”

Treville stood and loomed over Aramis, who kept looking up to him even though the strain on his back was terrible. The fury on the Captain’s face was replaced by disappointment when he said, “I’ve always tolerated your wild streak, but this time you went too far. I know that you don’t care what will happen to you, but I had hoped that you’d show a bit more consideration for your brothers. Do you really want to drag them down with you?”

Aramis flinched. He felt like Treville had struck him. He didn’t know how to respond to these accusations. It was clear that nobody believed a word he said. Treville watched him for another heartbeat, then he left the room. Aramis sank back onto the bed. Why would no one listen to him? He hadn’t done anything.


	5. Chapter 5

D’Artagnan wandered through the dark park surrounding the Villa Contarini. They had only arrived this morning and he was glad to have some time for himself. He needed to think. The last few days had been an almost unbearable misery. Aramis wasn’t well. He still ran a fever and his back mended poorly. He had been uncommunicative before, but after his whipping he seemed to have turned mute. They had tried to draw him out, but all of their plans had failed. No amount of cajoling, threatening or, in Porthos’ case, outright begging had done the trick. Aramis simply closed his eyes and tuned them out. D’Artagnan was not the only one, who worried deeply for his friend. And now they had had to leave him behind in the Ca’ d’Oro. D’Artagnan knew that nothing bad would happen to Aramis, but he didn’t like it. Porthos had been livid when de Rohan had announced their visit to Padua, but there was nothing they had been able to do. Their duty came first.

D’Artagnan entered the Villa and made his unhurried way towards his room. Laughter and excited talk filtered through the hallways. Servants bustled between the kitchens and the banquet hall. The assembled nobles had apparently a grand time and d’Artagnan was glad that he wasn’t on guard duty tonight. He took another turn and entered a dimly lit corridor. D’Artagnan wasn’t entirely sure that he was going in the right direction, but he figured that he would find out when he reached the end of the passage.

A soft rustle jarred d’Artagnan out of his distraction and he focused back on his surroundings. He turned. A woman sauntered towards him. At first d’Artagnan thought that it was one of the servants, but her dress was far too precious and elaborate. A noblewoman? It was the Contessa. Dear God, why him? D’Artagnan smoothed his expression to blankness and he bowed respectfully. He backed to the wall to let her pass. But the Contessa didn’t pass. She stopped right in front of him, cocked her head to the side, and asked, “What’s your name, my pretty?”

To his dismay d’Artagnan felt himself blushing. He wasn’t a complete novice regarding women, but the Contessa made him uncomfortable. He stuttered his name. The Contessa smiled sweetly and purred, “D’Artagnan. A pretty name for a pretty lad. Why don’t we two retire to my rooms and have a little bit of fun?”

“Um…”

“Aren’t you a sweetie?” The Contessa swayed even closer and ran a finger down his chest. “So shy. But don’t worry, we’ll have a great time together.”

D’Artagnan swallowed hard. Even the thought of spending the night with the Contessa was abhorrent to him. He needed to get away from her. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m very flattered, Contessa, but… But what about the Conte?”

The Contessa laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, my pretty. The Conte won’t learn a thing about our little meeting.”

D’Artagnan’s eyes flitted around the corridor. He desperately wanted to flee, but he didn’t quite dare. He didn’t want to insult the Contessa. Treville had been very adamant that they had to keep their heads down and not further aggravate Contarini. D’Artagnan licked his dry lips and tentatively said, “Contessa, I’m very flattered, but… I don’t think that this is a good idea. I… I really have to go.”

The smile fell off the Contessa’s face. Her eyes went hard like glass. Her voice sounded no longer honey-sweet and seductive when she snarled, “You are going nowhere. You think I won’t get what I want? Now shut up and follow me.”

D’Artagnan stared. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no sound came over his lips. The Contessa grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanked him roughly forward, and pressed her lips to his. For a long moment d’Artagnan felt paralyzed. The Contessa’s lips were soft and she tasted sweet, but he’d rather kiss a corpse than her. He roughly disentangled himself. The Contessa stumbled a step backwards. D’Artagnan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Both were breathing hard.

“I should go.”

The Contessa’s face was a mask of fury. “You stay.”

She grabbed his shirt. D’Artagnan fended her off again. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he wouldn’t tolerate the Contessa’s unwanted touches. Her dark hair had come loose and curled wildly around her flushed face. There was a rip in one of her voluptuous sleeves. She hissed like an angry cat and threatened, “You’ll regret this.”

D’Artagnan needed to get away from the Contessa now. He looked again for an exit and saw two men standing at the far end of the corridor. The dim light made identifying them not easy, but d’Artagnan thought he recognized them. Relief filled him. He breathed, “Captain Treville. Athos. Thank God.”

The Contessa whirled around. Just a second ago her expression had been full of rage, but now her eyes filled with tears. She wrung her hands in front of her chest and she gasped, “I’m so glad you came along. You need to help me.”

She flung herself into Treville’s arms and sobbed, “He attacked me.”

D’Artagnan stared wide-eyed at Athos and the Captain. “No. No, no. I didn’t do anything.”

Suddenly everything fell into place. Hadn’t that been Aramis’ exact words? Could the same thing have happened to Aramis? D’Artagnan felt chilled. He needed to talk with Athos and Porthos about this, but right now he had to save his own hide. He emphatically shook his head and said, “I didn’t touch her. You have to believe me, Captain. I was just minding my own business and then she came and…”

Treville interrupted him, “It’s alright, d’Artagnan. We saw what happened.”

The Contessa stiffened in his arms and wrenched herself free. “I will not be slandered by you and your men! The Conte will hear about this!”

“Very well.” Treville looked completely unimpressed. “Let’s go and tell him.”

The Contessa hesitated for a moment, but then she snapped, “Fine.”

She marched straight-backed towards the banquet hall and Treville followed her. D’Artagnan wiped a shaking hand over his face and slumped against the wall. That had been close.

“Are you alright, d’Artagnan?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.” He looked up. “Athos, do you think the same thing happened to Aramis?”

Athos looked grim. “It’s entirely possible.”


	6. Chapter 6

Porthos still couldn’t believe what he had witnessed earlier. His head reeling he opened the door to Athos’ room, who sat with d’Artagnan at the table. When they saw Porthos both made to rise and d’Artagnan asked urgently, “What happened? What did Contarini say?”

Porthos closed the door firmly behind him and took a seat as well. “He was raging like a wounded boar. Among other best not repeated things he accused the Captain of lying.” Porthos couldn’t help but smirk as he thought back to Treville’s reaction. “Well, all I can say is that it didn’t end well for Contarini.”

“But he now believes the Captain, right?”

Porthos turned serious again and answered d’Artagnan’s anxious question, “Don’t worry, d’Artagnan, the Contessa finally confessed. And she confessed something else as well.”

Athos asked, “Aramis?”

Porthos nodded and Athos said, “Thank God. This’ll clear his name and the King won’t get involved.”

“You don’t understand. Aramis was telling us the truth. He didn’t touch her.”

Both d’Artagnan and Athos stared at him in silent shock. Porthos knew exactly how they felt. When the Contessa had finally broken down and spilled her secrets, Porthos had felt like someone had punched him in the gut. D’Artagnan looked close to tears when he said, “So it’s true. We failed him.”

Porthos wanted to contradict d’Artagnan, but he couldn’t. He was right. They had failed Aramis.


	7. Chapter 7

Aramis stood on one of the balconies of the Ca’ d’Oro and looked out at the Grand Canal. Boats and gondolas were bobbing on the murky water, but he didn’t really see them. He leaned his head against one of the marble columns. He felt tired even though he had spent the last days almost exclusively in bed. Now he was at last back on his feet though his movements were severely hindered by his still healing back. He had to move very carefully, if he didn’t want to be in agony. If he kept still and his breathing shallow, the pain reduced to an almost bearable throbbing. He figured that it would be easier for him, if he’d have something to distract him, but since de Rohan’s departure he had been virtually alone. Contarini’s servants had seen to his needs, but he hadn’t spoken with anyone. He was all alone with his thoughts.

At first he had railed against the injustice of it all. He had never touched the Contessa. The moment he had set foot inside the Ca’ d’Oro she had stalked him like a hungry cat a mouse. He would be lying, if he claimed he hadn’t been flattered by her attention. The Contessa was an attractive woman after all. But he simply wasn’t interested in pursuing an affair with her. He was still in anguish over the Queen’s loss, which was his loss as well. And he hadn’t forgotten his talk with Athos, Porthos, and d’Artagnan. He had promised them he would be more circumspect in his future affairs and he meant to keep this promise. He had made it clear from the start that he wouldn’t join the Contessa’s bed and she seemed to have taken his rejection lightly. He had been all the more shocked when Contarini had accused him of rape. But that had been nothing compared to the pain he had felt when it had become clear that his brothers didn’t believe him. Aramis had raged inside against the unfairness of it all, but now he finally had accepted it. This was his punishment for his manifold sins. All his past misdeeds had caught up with him and now he had to atone for them. He probably should count himself lucky that his penance hadn’t been worse.

“Aramis?”

He jerked upright in surprise and had to bite his lower lip to stifle his pained gasp. He hadn’t heard Porthos’ approach. Aramis carefully turned and acknowledged Porthos with a quick look. He didn’t feel like talking. Porthos apparently didn’t get the hint, because he joined Aramis on the balcony and looked with him out at the Canal.

“How’re you doing?”

Aramis managed to abort his shrug before it could set his back ablaze again and he mumbled instead, “Good.”

Porthos watched him for a long moment – he probably thought that Aramis would elaborate on his monosyllabic answer – and then he finally said, “I have news for you.”

Apparently Porthos expected an answer so Aramis made a noncommittal sound. Porthos frowned, but he launched into his story. Aramis listened with strange detachment. He knew that he should feel relieved, but there was only a soul-deep weariness. What did the Contessa’s confession change? He probably wasn’t any longer in any danger from the King, but what was done was done. The confession wouldn’t erase the marks on his back, the confession wouldn’t close the rift between him and his brothers. Aramis became aware that Porthos was looking at him rather expectantly. He eventually asked, “Is d’Artagnan alright?”

Porthos furrowed his brow and answered, “Yes, he’s fine.”

He seemed to search for the right words. “To tell you the truth we’re more worried about you.”

“There’s no need. I’m on the mend.”

“Aramis… I’m speaking for all of us, when I tell you that we’re sorry.” He swallowed audibly. “I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you. I shouldn’t have doubted your words and I hope you can forgive me.”

“Don’t worry, Porthos, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not.” Porthos started to pace. “It’s definitely not alright. We understand if you’re mad at us. And we’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Porthos’ agitation was obvious and Aramis soothed, “It is alright. I’m not mad at you.” And he really wasn’t. All of his anger and agitation had burned away quite some time ago. “I forgive you.”

“You truly do?”

“Yes.”

Aramis forced a smile. It felt strained and fake, but Porthos seemed to take it at face value. He beamed back at him and laid a gentle hand on Aramis’ shoulder.


	8. Chapter 8

Porthos felt miserable. Steady rain was falling since three days which made their journey back to Paris thoroughly wretched. De Rohan was bitching almost nonstop and tempers were bad. Porthos wondered again and again how the Captain managed to not kill the Comte. Porthos himself felt decidedly homicidal. He let his horse fall back until he reached Aramis’ side. Seeing his friend darkened his mood even further. Aramis looked pale and strained. He looked as if he could keep barely astride his horse. Porthos knew that it was pointless, but he nonetheless asked, “How’re you doing?”

“Fine.”

Aramis flashed him a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Porthos suppressed a sigh. He hadn’t expected anything else. Aramis nowadays always gave the same answer. He was “fine”, when it was crystal-clear that he was anything but. He claimed to have forgiven them their betrayal, but Porthos just knew that things weren’t this easy and clear cut. If everything was alright, why was Aramis barely speaking to them? Why was he silently staring into space for hours, barely eating and barely sleeping? No, nothing was alright here. Porthos knew of course that things probably would never be the same again, but he still wanted their easy friendship back. He missed Aramis terribly.

Aramis started to sway. Porthos brought his horse closer and grabbed Aramis’ arm to steady him. He stopped their horses.

“Aramis?”

Aramis didn’t answer, he just tried to pull free, but his movements were feeble. Treville reined his horse beside them and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Aramis needs a break.”

“I’m _fine_.”

Both Treville and Porthos ignored Aramis’ tired protest. Treville frowned and said, “We can’t stop here. The terrain isn’t fit for a camp.” He turned to Aramis. “Do you think you can make it until noon?”

“As I said before, I’m perfectly fine.”

The doubt on the Captain’s face was more than obvious, but he nodded briskly. They had no other choice after all. Treville said to Porthos, “Stay with him, but be careful that you don’t lose us. I don’t want you to wander around alone here.”

Treville spurred his horse and they were alone at the back of the Comte’s entourage. Porthos adjusted his hat against the still falling masses of rain and spurred his horse as well. Aramis’ good natured mare fell in beside. They kept their pace noticeably down, but Porthos didn’t worry too much. There were vagrants in these parts, but he was confident in his skills and the others were close enough to help.

They rode for several minutes in silence and Porthos felt his agitation mounting. Usually the silences between them were comfortable. They knew each other well enough to not fill every moment with idle chatter. But since the whipping even Aramis’ silences seemed to be filled with hidden meanings. Porthos stopped short. Since the whipping? No. It had started far earlier. It had started when they had confronted Aramis with his affair with the Queen. Was that the problem? Did Aramis resent their interference? Porthos pondered for a long moment. He didn’t think so. Aramis was the most courteous of them, but he had no problem stating his mind, if the situation warranted it. He would have told them to fuck off, if he didn’t like their involvement. But what was it then? Porthos musingly watched Aramis. He looked terrible. Beaten down. And it wasn’t only the shitty weather and his still healing back. There was something else. And Porthos vowed to himself to uncover it. Well, there was no time like the present.

“You know, I’m usually not the thinker in the group.” Aramis looked up in surprise. He had already opened his mouth, but Porthos overrode him, “Don’t say anything. It’s true. The heavy brooding is more Athos’ style and the philosophical musings are more your thing, but in light of the recent developments I did a lot of thinking. Wanna know what I was thinking about?”

For a second Porthos thought that Aramis would shake his head, but then he reluctantly nodded.

“I was thinking about you, my friend.”

“There’s no need. I’m…”

Porthos interrupted him, “You’re fine. Yeah, yeah. So you say. But let me tell you, that’s horse shit. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. You are not fine.”

Aramis stared at him in silent dismay. Porthos ignored him and said, “We are friends for a long time now. Would you say you know me well?”

Aramis nodded again cautiously.

“Well, I have news for you, Aramis. I know you equally well. I’m without any doubt not as perceptive as you, but I’m hardly a complete fool. And only a complete fool would believe your protestations that nothing is wrong with you.”

Aramis didn’t say anything to that. Porthos wasn’t surprised. He had known that this wouldn’t be easy. He continued, “I want to know what’s wrong with you. And don’t tell me some shit about the whipping. I know that it’s maybe one of the reasons, but not the main one. You were far earlier this strange. Has it to do with the Queen?”

Aramis flinched. Only slightly, but Porthos still saw it. He dug deeper, “Are you mad that we ganged up on you about her?”

Aramis’ face briefly contorted with a complex emotion. Porthos wasn’t sure what he had seen, but he thought that it had been grief and something else. Self-loathing?

“Is it about the miscarriage?”

Self-doubts gnawed at Porthos. He knew that he hadn’t been a good friend in this difficult time. He had never offered any consolation, he had never asked if Aramis was alright. He had left him on his own and he knew that Athos and d’Artagnan had neglected to reach out to Aramis as well. Was that the reason for Aramis’ withdrawal?

“We left you alone when it happened and I’m sorry about that. We should have been there for you. I understand if you’re still angry at us.”

Aramis shook his head. “No. I’m not angry. I didn’t want to talk about it.” He looked Porthos straight in the eyes. “I couldn’t have endured it, if you’d have told me that the miscarriage was for the best.”

A chill raced through Porthos that had nothing to do with the cold wind and everything with Aramis’ bleak words and the grief in his eyes. They stared at each other and Porthos finally asked, “Do you really think us this cold-hearted?”

Aramis only shrugged and broke their eye contact. Porthos had an empty platitude on his tongue, but he swallowed it. They had had enough evasions and lies. He wanted the truth from Aramis and so it was only fair, if he also offered only the truth. So he said, “I won’t lie to you. My relief at the miscarriage is bigger than my grief. Far bigger. But that’s only because I was afraid for you. This child – loved and cherished as it might have been – would always have been a danger to you. I can’t be sorry for it, but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t have respected your mourning. That I wouldn’t have understood it.”Porthos tried to catch a glimpse of Aramis’ face, but he kept his head down and his hat shadowed his expression. “I was livid at you for taking this risk, but that hasn’t changed our friendship, Aramis.”

“If our friendship is unaltered then why did you not believe me back in Venice?”

Aramis’ question threw Porthos. Aramis had him there. He suppressed the impulse to defend himself and said instead, “I never believed for a second that you raped her.”

“But you thought that I slept with her even though I promised you otherwise.”

“Yes.”

Porthos absolutely hated to admit it, but he saw no other choice. He frantically searched for some way to soften his answer, but Aramis said, “It’s alright, Porthos. I get it. It’s not like I’m an innocent. You had every reason to believe the Contessa.”

Porthos wanted to yell in frustration. He had the feeling that he had made their problems only worse. Yes, they had had reason to believe the accusation, but they shouldn’t have assumed the worst of Aramis. He was their friend. Their brother. They should have had more faith in him. But hadn’t Aramis betrayed just this faith, when he had slept with the Queen? Porthos became aware that Aramis was watching him. Their eyes met. Aramis said, “When we reach Paris I’ll ask the Captain to reassign me. I think it will be better for all of us if we keep our distance for a time.”

“No, Aramis. There must be a different way.”

“And what would you suggest?”

Porthos had no answer. Aramis smiled sadly at him and forced the pace of his mare.


	9. Chapter 9

“Can I speak with you for a moment, Captain?”

Treville looked up from the papers on his desk and said, “Yes. Come in and take a seat.”

Aramis dropped into one of the chairs in front of the Captain’s desk. He cleared his throat and said, “It’s about my reassignment. I wanted to…”

Treville interrupted him eagerly, “You want me to revoke it? Consider it done.”

“No. I wanted to ask you to make the reassignment permanent.”

The Captain stared at him in astonishment. Aramis shifted uncomfortably in his chair and he played with his hat. He had hoped that the separation would heal his relationship with Porthos, Athos, and d’Artagnan, but even after three months things felt strained and unnatural between them. It felt almost like they were strangers and Aramis just couldn’t stand it any longer. Treville had composed himself again and simply asked, “Why?”

“It’s just… I think it’s better for everyone involved.”

Treville frowned and gave Aramis a long, measuring look. His expression finally softened and he asked, “How are you doing, son?”

What had this to do with anything? Aramis answered, “I’m well, thank you.”

“Aramis, how are you really doing?”

He sighed in defeat and rubbed a hand over his face. He was mostly just tired. And lately he often thought about leaving the musketeers. He always had loved his job, but now there wasn’t much joy left. But what should he do, if he wasn’t a musketeer any longer? He had no idea. Maybe it would be different, if he found some new partners. If he could draw a definitive line under his past. Aramis sighed again and shrugged. He had no better answer. Treville leaned intently forward and said, “You know that I usually don’t meddle in the private affairs of my men. But I think that this time I should make an exception.”

Aramis only wished Treville would leave this whole mess alone, but the Captain spoke on, “What is going on between you? Can I do anything to help?”

Aramis still didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what he should say. He didn’t want to discuss their problems with the Captain. And there were certain things he couldn’t discuss with the Captain.

“Aramis, talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say. We’re done. Our friendship is done. And I don’t know what I can do to fix this damage.” Aramis stared down at his hands. “I think that they’re better off without me.”

“Why would you say that?”

“They don’t trust me any longer. And they can manage alone.”

“What about you?”

“I can manage. I’m fine.”

Treville sighed and he shook his head. “But you don’t have to manage alone. Aramis, it’s obvious that you’re unhappy. Athos, Porthos, and d’Artagnan are unhappy. And it would be so easy to make it better.”

“Easy?” Aramis stared at the Captain. “There is nothing easy about this whole mess.”

“I don’t know what happened between you and you don’t have to tell me. But can’t you reach out to them? Show them a little hint that you’ve forgiven them? They are waiting for a sign.”

Aramis had already opened his mouth to deny Treville’s words, but he stopped. It was true that Porthos, Athos, and d’Artagnan were never very far away. They respected his wish for solitude, but they seemed to watch over him all the same. Maybe he should give their friendship another chance. Maybe it was cowardly to just give up and run away.

“Aramis?”

“I just feel like I fucked everything up. I don’t know what I should do.”

“Talk to them.”

“I don’t know what I should tell them.”

“Tell them what’s on your mind.”

The Captain made this all sound so simple. But maybe it was this simple. Maybe he was just being an idiot. Treville said, “You don’t have to decide immediately. Think about it.”

Aramis nodded and rose. He could do that. Maybe.


	10. Chapter 10

Aramis had barely slept last night and he felt high-strung. The last three days he had tried to psych himself up to talk with Athos, Porthos, and d’Artagnan. He had failed miserably. But today was the day. He would do it. Aramis took a deep breath and entered the courtyard. Due to the early hour it was nearly deserted. Athos and d’Artagnan were focused on their sparring-match and didn’t notice Aramis’ silent entry. Porthos sat nearby. He watched them and offered some good-natured commentary. Aramis felt a pang. God, how he missed this. How he missed _them_. Maybe the Captain was right.

Porthos turned his head and their eyes met. His easy grin disappeared and a cautious expression spread on his face. Aramis hated seeing this, but he could understand it. He didn’t like to admit it, but the last few months his moods had been rather mercurial. Once or twice he had almost taken off Porthos’ head over simple enquiries about his well-being. Aramis straightened his posture and strode over to them. Athos and d’Artagnan had lowered their weapons and watched his approach as well. Athos’ face was impassive as always, but d’Artagnan looked almost hopeful. Aramis stopped in front of them and swallowed hard. He had carefully composed what to say in advance, but face to face with his friends his plans collapsed. He forced himself not to fidget and hesitantly asked, “Do you have a moment? I wanted to talk to you.”

Athos answered immediately, “Of course.”

Aramis released a shaky breath. For a split second he had been afraid that they would refuse. He licked his lips and said, “I’ve talked with the Captain a few days ago. He said that he talked to you about me and…” Aramis fell silent. He didn’t know why it was so difficult to speak with them. They were his brothers and he had always been able to tell them everything. Had he really changed this much? He cleared his throat and helplessly said, “The Captain said that you think that I’m still angry with you. That’s not true. I’m not mad at you. But I don’t know… I don’t know how to fix this. And I think that maybe it would be better if we went our separate ways.”

There. He had said it. He still thought that this was most likely the best solution for their problems, so it really surprised him how much the prospect of losing them hurt. He felt torn. On the one hand he almost wished they would accept his plan and end their misery, on the other hand he felt nearly nauseated when he thought about turning his back on his brothers.

“You can’t be serious!” Porthos’ sounded shocked. “You want to leave us?”

“Yes. No. I…”

Aramis’ words petered out. He felt deeply conflicted. Some of his internal struggle must have shown on his face, because Athos said, “Don’t do this, Aramis. Don’t shut us out any longer.”

D’Artagnan piped up, “We miss you, Aramis. Please, come back.”

They sounded so sincere. And they looked so unhappy. Aramis felt guilty. He was doing this to them. He made them this miserable. He dropped his eyes to the ground and fought the urge to flee out of the courtyard. Porthos rose and stepped up to Aramis. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder and said, “D’Artagnan is right. We do miss you.”

Aramis still fought the urge to bolt. Porthos drew him right into his arms. Aramis stiffened for a second and then he relaxed in the strong embrace. Porthos’ familiar smell enveloped him and a sudden lump formed in Aramis’ throat. He had to blink back tears. Porthos whispered into his hair, “Come back to us. Come back to me.”

Aramis couldn’t hold his tears back any longer. He nodded weakly against Porthos’ shoulder. Porthos sighed deeply and pulled him even closer in. Aramis heard some rustling, then he felt two different sets of arms going around him. Aramis soaked the offered comfort up. He muttered against Porthos’ chest, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about the Queen and everything. I promise I won’t take a risk like that again. I’m so sorry for betraying your trust in me.”

Athos said, “All is forgiven and forgotten, Aramis. And we’re sorry too. We’re sorry for doubting you back in Venice and not helping you. We’re sorry for betraying your trust in us.”

Aramis sniffled. “It’s alright. I’m not angry.”

“And we’re not angry either.” Porthos’ voice was a soothing rumble against Aramis’ ear. “Let’s make a new start. No more hiding out alone, no more talk about reassignment. We’re in this together.”

There was still doubt in Aramis, but his longing for his brothers was stronger. He nodded again. They had prevailed against impossible odds in the past and they would make it. He was home again.

 

FIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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